


I Called You Up So We Could Shoot the Moon

by lynnearlington



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:25:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3391667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnearlington/pseuds/lynnearlington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dogs are a good judge of character; Brittany’s always believed this about them. They have an accurate sense of good and evil and who’s worthwhile and who isn’t, so if one of her dogs doesn’t like someone, chances are Brittany won’t like them either. </p><p>So she’s kind of shocked when Ein completely bypasses her and heads straight for Santana, tail still wagging as he barks happily up at her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Called You Up So We Could Shoot the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fic I started to write for a big bang challenge NEALRY FIVE YEARS AGO and just two days ago decided to finally tweak and publish. I'm feeling all nostalgic about Glee finally ending - thus begins my project of publishing all those dusty fics I have sitting around so I can continue my eternal crying over two idiot cheerleaders that fell in love. 
> 
> A warning for all: this fic includes: architect!Santana, veterinarian!Brittany, egads of other AU elements such as very-alive-and-friendly!Finn Hudson and a bizarre cast of pairings that you probably will not expect. Consider this your final warning.

“Cat,” Brittany says brightly, tilting her head at the small cockapoo puppy in front of her.

“Cat,” Quinn repeats, tilting her head as well as she focuses on the same spot as Brittany.

“Yup. Another ‘C’ name, like Cooper,” Brittany explains, referring to her other cockapoo, currently curled up in the corner of the kitchen, unimpressed with the new hyperactive puppy.

“You want to name the dog, Cat.”

Brittany nods, bending down and rubbing a cautious hand over the top of the dog’s head. “Yes, I do.”

“Don’t you think it will have an identity crisis or something?”

“No,” Brittany replies, unconcerned, “a dog knows it’s a dog.”

Quinn takes a sip of the wine in her hand before laughing and nodding, striding to bend down next to Brittany and smile at the puppy. “Okay then. Hello, Cat.”

“How’s Fishsticks?” Brittany stands as her new puppy bounds off to explore her apartment and walks over to the counter in the kitchen where her wine glass is, picking it up and swirling the liquid around in the glass.

After a puzzled moment, Quinn laughs, “No way,” she says, strolling across the kitchen to sit at a stool in front of Brittany’s marble island. “I can’t name a dog Fishsticks.” 

Brittany takes a sip of her wine and pretends to appreciate it. It’s whatever overpriced bottle Quinn had discovered on her last wine-tasting tour a few months ago. Brittany hadn’t quite developed a taste for fine wine like Quinn had, but she always humored her friend whenever Quinn brought a bottle over. 

“Come on,” Brittany laughs, moving to stand on the opposite side of the island, facing Quinn. “You’ve got to name her something. You’ve had her for two weeks now.” 

“She’ll have a name when she has a name,” Quinn replies, rolling her eyes. “Names are permanent, you know. You can’t rush these things.” 

Brittany shrugs, an amused tilt to her lips. “So how is Nameless then?”

Laughing, Quinn twirls her wine glass around on the marble countertop, red liquid swirling up the sides of the glass. “She’s great,” she answers. 

“Good,” Brittany says. She had given the dog to her friend as a gift to celebrate Quinn’s new job. 

“So, how’re the plans for the new center coming along?”

A bright smile lights up Brittany’s face at the mention of her new project. “We’re meeting with some architects tomorrow.”

“That’s exciting,” Quinn replies.

“I know,” Brittany breathes, leaning forward onto her elbows and not even trying to contain her excitement and enthusiasm. The plans for a new dog-rescue operation had been in the works for years. “It’s finally happening.”

“I’m so proud of you, B,” Quinn says honestly, reaching over the island to set her hand over Brittany’s forearm. “You’re going to be like Chicago’s very own dog rescuing super hero.” 

Warmth in her cheeks, Brittany smiles. “Thanks, Quinn. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“Yes it is.” 

Brittany shrugs, looking away. 

Quinn laughs, but before she can say more, Brittany’s new puppy, Cat, scrambles into the kitchen straight for Brittany’s legs and the two girls become completely entranced.

\--

When Brittany walks into work the next day, at her small veterinarian clinic only thirty minutes from her apartment, her co-worker Sam Evans is standing in front of the double doors, his giant golden retriever, Harley, standing next him.

“Hey, Harley,” Brittany coos, bending over to run a hand over the soft fur of the dog’s head.

“Exciting day today,” Sam greets, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth. The air holds the chill of early October; winter is creeping up on them. 

“You’re okay taking my patients?” Brittany asks, straightening up to peer at her friend, shifting around in her bag for her keys. 

“Definitely,” Sam says. “What time are the people coming?”

“The people?” Brittany asks, looking around confused. “What people are coming?”

“The building people, architects whatever,” Sam says, pulling a hand out of his pocket and waving it around. "Kurt's been talking about it for weeks." 

Brittany looks at him for a second, blinking slowly on his impassive face before laughing. “Why are _you_ nervous?”

“Why are you _not_ nervous?” Sam counters, his hand dropping down onto Harley’s head and scratching absently. “I mean this is like the beginning. The big moment, the start of something new, blah blah. It’s exciting!”

“Yeah,” Brittany agrees, finally fishing her keys out. “Exciting. Not _scary_.” 

“Whatever,” Sam laughs, moving aside a little.

Brittany moves around him and opens the front doors to the clinic, letting Harley walk in first before stepping inside. “It’ll be great.” 

Hitting his thigh lightly, to get Harley to walk with him towards the back, Sam smiles and nods at Brittany. “Yeah,” he says. “I think it will be. You’re doing a good thing here.” 

Brittany bows her a head a little, flushing. “Yeah,” she breathes. 

\--

Precisely on time, two women walk into her office, the taller one in sharply tailored black slacks and a matching vest over her white shirt. The other woman is dressed equally as nice in her skirt suit and Brittany feels suddenly under dressed in her jeans and bulky sweater. 

The taller, sterner looking, but undeniably attractive one, walks towards her, hand outstretched, sporting a smile that looks caught between forced and insincere. It’s like her face has practiced the expression often enough, but has never quite mastered the technique. It does little to ease Brittany’s nerves. 

“Ms. Pierce? I’m Santana Lopez.” 

Brittany stands and grips Santana’s hand in a shake. Santana’s grasp is firm and self-assured, and warmth shoots straight up her arm, settling in her chest. 

“This is my associate, Tina Hudson,” Santana continues, letting go of Brittany's hand and gesturing towards the woman next to her. 

“Nice to meet you,” Brittany says, shaking Tina’s hand as well. “You can call me Brittany. That’s my name.” 

Santana smiles in acknowledgement, but the expression isn’t warm, just polite. Brittany feels uncharacteristically uncomfortable in her own office. 

“My lawyer will be here soon,” Brittany says, coming around the side of her desk. “We can wait for him in the conference room.” 

“Excellent,” Santana says, nodding at Tina. “Lead the way.” 

\--

Brittany’s met a lot of people in her life. She likes meeting people; they’re complicated and different and she likes figuring out what makes them happy, what makes them smile and laugh. 

Animals are better than people though. Dogs especially. Well, her favorite animal is actually a panda, or maybe a platypus, but since people can’t keep those as pets, dogs are her favorite. They’re your best friends no matter what happens and they don’t care about stuff like wealth or social status or what kind of outfit Brittany chooses to wear on any given day. They’re always there after a bad date or a bad breakup or just a bad day and Brittany’s always found them highly more reliable than people. 

Brittany has a hard time trusting people who don’t like dogs. She can’t understand people who don’t like dogs, much less trust them. How can someone not like dogs? Not liking dogs is like not liking sunshine, rainbows or happiness. 

Two minutes after meeting Santana Lopez, her new potential architect, Brittany’s pretty sure Santana hates all of the above and Brittany really can’t have someone like that designing a building that’s supposed to be a safe haven, a sanctuary really, for all those things. 

Kurt Hummel, her attorney, is sitting next to her at their conference table, a yellow legal pad and a heavy pen in front of him as he listens to Santana and Tina go over their ideas and plans for the new center. Brittany touches him lightly on his leg and casts her gaze downward to indicate that the meeting isn’t going well. 

With a quirk of his eyebrow, he acknowledges her and smiles at the two women across the table. “Ms. Lopez, Mrs. Hudson. Please excuse us for just a moment.” 

They’re standing outside the doors of the small conference room in a few seconds and Kurt is talking before she even has a chance to make her case. 

“They’re the best, Britt.” 

“I don’t like her.” 

Kurt glances back into the room. “Which one?” 

“The mean looking hot one.” 

He studies the two women for a moment with a wrinkle in his brow. “Santana Lopez?” 

Brittany nods insistently. “She doesn’t like dogs,” she whispers, leaning in closer to him. 

“How do you even know that?” 

“I can tell,” she says solemnly. “I have like dog whisperer espn.” 

An aggrieved sigh drops out of Kurt’s mouth. “Give them a chance. Santana is one of the best new architects in the city. Her name alone will attract people to the operation. She designed the Waldorf Empire building, that one over on fifth? And, Abbott Hospital downtown. They say the art gallery that’s finishing up this fall is going to-” 

“I don’t like those buildings,” Brittany pouts. “They’re cold and boring. And nothing like what we’re looking for.” 

“They’re _famous_ ,” Kurt argues. “She’s won awards for commercial architecture. I’m shocked she even took my call when I went after her for the job. I mostly did it as a joke!” 

Scuffing her toe against the floor, Brittany shrugs again, frowning. Kurt sighs. He seems to do that a lot. 

“Let’s just give them the tour, talk to them a little longer. We’re not going to find much better, especially not at the price they’re offering. It’s a steal. The publicity alone...think of all the dogs we could help, Britt.” 

Defeated, Brittany sighs softly. “Fine.” 

\--

The clinic Brittany runs is small, just a few patient rooms, their front waiting room, supply closet and not much else. Which is the way she likes it. She gets to know clients and their pets better and she still has time to have a life outside of work. It also affords her the ability to run a small boarding and grooming service in the back. She likes that the best, because it means she gets to spend time with the dogs and the cats just for fun, not because they’re sick or need to come in for a checkup. 

Some of the dogs, but only her favorites, come home with her. She checks with their owners first, of course, but she likes to let them come over to her apartment and stay for the few days they’re boarded. 

After giving Santana and Tina a brief tour of their offices, she leads them to the back where she can hear some of the dogs barking loudly. 

Ein, this springer spaniel that Brittany has absolutely adored since the first time he came in with an ear infection, comes bounding towards her, tail wagging and tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

Dogs are a good judge of character; Brittany’s always believed this about them. They have an accurate sense of good and evil and who’s worthwhile and who isn’t, so if one of her dogs doesn’t like someone, chances are Brittany won’t like them either. 

So she’s kind of shocked when Ein completely bypasses her and heads straight for Santana, tail still wagging as he barks happily up at her. 

Matt comes running out towards them, laughing. “Sorry about that, Britt. I let Ein out for a few hours, didn’t know you were coming back here.” 

She waves him off, eyes fixated on the small dog, still barking happily at Santana, jumping up and down a little around her legs. Santana’s face is a mixture of unease and shock, her feet shifting uncomfortably around the dog as Tina, beside her, muffles laughter with a hand over her mouth. 

In an instant, her perspective on Santana starts to shift. She’s not sold, but she second guesses her write-off from earlier. 

She doesn’t have to look to know Kurt is smiling beside her. “Do you have a dog, Santana?” 

Startled eyes turn on Brittany. “Uh, no. Not exactly.” 

Brittany arches an eyebrow, watches Santana subtly push Ein away with her leg. “Not exactly?” 

“My friends have a dog,” she answers. “I mean, I’ve had dogs. I just don’t, you know,” she gestures vaguely, “have one right now.” Santana smiles tightly. There’s something there, something Brittany can’t quite figure out and she’s indescribably intrigued. Tina flashes something like concern for her co-worker, which only makes Brittany all the more curious. 

“Shall we continue on?” Kurt steps forward and opens his arm down the hallway. 

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Brittany says. She claps her hands towards the dog still jumping up Santana’s leg. “C’mere, Ein.” 

Santana watches the springer spaniel bound back towards Brittany before following Kurt towards the back. Brittany crouches down, ruffles her hand over the top of Ein’s head and looks him in the eye. “Yeah?” 

The dog just pants, presses his head into her hand as she scratches over his fur. It’s all the answer Brittany needs. She looks to where Kurt is leading Santana and Tina down the hallway. “Okay.” 

\--

“We’ll let you know.” Kurt runs a hand over the front of his suit, smiling like the consummate professional. 

“Of course.” Santana says, her lips pressed together in a thin smile - not wholly insincere, but distant, professional. They’re back in the lobby now, Sam watching them from behind the desk with a curious look. 

Kurt nods sharply and shakes her hand, then Tina’s. Brittany bounces up a little on the balls of her feet and smiles excitedly at Santana. Santana gives her a look that Brittany’s well accustomed to, the one that’s trying to figure out why Brittany’s so happy all the time. Santana will get used to it soon enough, Brittany’s sure. Most people do, anyway. 

“Nice meeting you,” Brittany says, holding her hand out to Tina first, then to Santana. 

There aren’t fireworks, or music, or anything to indicate that this handshake is anything other than it is, but when Santana clasps Brittany’s hand firmly, their palms sliding together for the second time that day, it feels entirely different than it did earlier. Significant, heavy, like Brittany’s hand suddenly fits better against Santana’s. It’s an absurd way to feel about someone she just met, but it’s there and she’s not one to deny a feeling like that. Her whole being just kind of warms for a second.

Their eyes lock and Brittany wonders if Santana feels it, too, notices the difference at all. 

Kurt clears his throat and Santana jerks a little, breaking eye contact and releasing Brittany’s hand. 

“Well,” Santana says on a deep inhale. She avoids Brittany’s eyes as she shifts her shoulders around and nods at Tina. “I look forward to hearing from you.” 

They both turn, exiting and Brittany is left with Kurt and Sam in the small lobby area. Sam comes around the desk and steps in between them. “Well?’ 

Kurt looks at Brittany, eyebrow raised. 

“Call them in a few hours,” Brittany says with a smile, turning and walking past them. Kurt laughs and Brittany sees Sam pump his fist in victory as she makes her way back towards her office. 

\--

Later that day, after she sees her last patient and finally closes up shop, she heads to a bar not too far away that she’s been frequenting for after work drinks and food since what feels like forever. Quinn’s already handing her a beer when she walks in, smiling at her next to Sam. She slides in the booth and takes a swig of her beer, looking over at Sam curiously. 

“How did you beat me?” They left from work at the same time, so she’s surprised to see him already half a beer in at the bar. 

He shrugs. “I know shortcuts.” 

“How did it go?” Quinn asks. 

Brittany smiles, shrugs a little. “It was fine.” 

Quinn shoots her a look. “Did you end up hiring them? Are we celebrating?” 

The grin on her face must give it away because Quinn starts laughing, and Sam starts whooping before he calls the waitress over to order a round of shots. 

Brittany presses her shoulders back into the worn wood of the booth behind her and lets the excitement of her friends thrum through her with a smile. 

“To the beginning,” Sam toasts when the shots arrive, holding his up in the air. The light green liquid sloshes around, spilling a little onto his hand. 

“The beginning,” Quinn parrots clinking her shot against his and then against Brittany’s. 

Brittany hums her agreement, eyebrows waggling up and down as she throws the alcohol down her throat. 

\----------

Santana pops open a few buttons past professional on her dress shirt and pulls it open a little before fingering the shot of tequila in front of her and raising it towards Tina with a smile. “To a new contract.” 

Tina laughs, picks her shot up and clinks it against Santana’s. “You’re crazy.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The tequila burns down her throat; she coughs a little against the feeling. 

“Picking up a new project right now?” Tina sets her empty shot glass on the table next to Santana’s and shakes her head. “A fluff project at that.” 

“Looks good on my bio,” Santana argues. “Makes people think I have a shred of humanity or whatever. Who doesn’t like helping sick or abandoned dogs? People eat that shit up.” 

“You’re stretching yourself thin.” 

Santana shrugs. “Worth it.” 

Puck, the bartender, steps up in front of them, wiping a glass down and grinning. He turns towards Tina. “Where’s my boy?” 

Santana gives him a look and answers before Tina can. “Drinks first, answers second. I have needs.” 

Puck laughs, opens his mouth to answer, but seems to catch something out of the corner of his eye before he can. Smirking, he tilts his head towards the door. 

Santana turns to see her best friend, Rachel Berry, come waltzing into the seedy bar, acting like she’s bestowing some great gift on the establishment just by showing up. “The great Rachel Berry, everyone,” Santana says with affectionate mockery. 

Rachel beams, squeezing Tina on the shoulder in greeting, before kissing Santana on the cheek. Puck sets his glass down and grins at Rachel. “Hey, shorty.” 

“Noah,” Rachel greets, coyly. Santana gives Tina a look, but her co-worker just laughs. 

“Looking good,” Puck comments. 

“Aren’t I always?” Rachel flips her hair over her shoulder and Santana rolls her eyes, giving Tina an exasperate look. It’s the same routine they’ve had to witness for years.

Leaning over the bartop, Puck grins. “When are we going to stop all this flirting and finally do the deed. Hot jew like you,” Puck gestures at Rachel, smirk in place. “Hot jew like me and all.” 

“When you stop referring to me as a hot jew,” Rachel replies. 

Puck starts to reply, but Santana interrupts with a grumbled, “Are you done?” She shakes her empty shot glass at Puck. “You’re sort of required to serve me, you know? _Not_ flirt uselessly with my best friend.” 

Rachel shoves at Santana’s shoulder, but Puck just laughs. “One day,” he says, wagging his finger in their direction. 

“Never,” Santana replies, pushing back at Rachel and glaring at Puck. 

“Never, what?” Finn Hudson, Tina’s tall, lumbering husband and Santana’s best contractor, walks up behind Santana, smiling at all of them as he wraps an arm around Tina and extends his other hand out towards Puck, bumping his fist against his friend’s. “What’s up, guys?” 

Tina smiles up at Finn, showing him her empty shot glass with a laugh. “We’re celebrating!” 

Curious, Finn glances around at all of them. “Celebrating what?” 

“Santana took a new project today.” 

Santana can feel Rachel’s eyes on her without having to look. “You _what_?” 

Sighing, Santana sends a _leave me alone_ look to her best friend. “It’s a side project. It’s nothing.” 

“You barely have free time as it is.” 

“Thanks, I’m aware.” 

Rachel looks unimpressed. “Honestly, Santana.” 

“Rachel,” Santana interrupts. “I’m taking the project, okay? Deal with it.” 

She turns towards Finn, “I could use you on it too, Hudson.” 

Finn smiles, nods, grabbing at a beer Puck is handing him. “Yeah, sure, of course. I’m all yours. You know that.” 

Five shot glasses clank together as Puck sets them down on the bar in front of her, a black bottle from under the bar following. She watches him pour the shots, sliding them around to the all of them and then smiling as he raises his own glass in front of him. 

“To Santana Lopez’s nonexistent sex life.” He winks. 

“Fuck you, I get laid,” Santana laughs, trying to glare. 

Rachel elbows him in the ribs before Santana has a chance to slap him. He laughs, coughing a little, and waves his hand in front of him defensively. “Okay, okay,” he wheezes. Trying again, he says, “To new beginnings.” 

“To new beginnings,” everyone echoes, clanking the glasses together. 

\--

The start of a new project is intoxicating. Santana gets consumed by it, by the ideas, the potential. At beginning of a new project, Santana often spends full nights drawing and designing, forgetting about things like food and sleep and the real world. The potential that exists at the beginning, at the ground floor, is staggering. If she doesn’t get it all out of her system, she feels like she might explode.

Which is why, when she makes it home from the bar and back to her apartment, she walks straight to her drafting table, set off in the corner of her spacious great room. Pulling up her shirt sleeves, she tugs a clean sheet of paper towards her and sits on the stool. 

Twirling the pencil in her left hand a few times, Santana runs her right palm over the clean, white paper reverently. So much space to create, to imagine. She takes a deep breath and puts her pencil to paper, eyes focused as her mind darts. 

It’s been a long time since Santana’s been able to do a project like this. To be able to work with someone that isn’t solely concerned with building something impressive or intimidating. She thinks about the way Brittany wouldn’t stop smiling at her, the way she listened to Santana and Tina’s ideas openly, without censure. Buildings should be about their owners. She knows it will never fly, that she can never run wild with an idea at the firm she’s at, but in this moment right now, with no bosses or investors, she let’s her mind go free. 

For a moment she allows herself to feel invigorated imagining what it’d be like to be a no-one architect, working with Brittany under little pressure to perform a certain way. 

Unfortunately, that’s so far from reality it’s ridiculous. Sure, taking on a new project like this was probably stupid. Tina and Rachel may have had a point - she’s one of the busiest architects in Chicago, she’s sure, which is the price she pays for success - but she misses the thrill of freedom in her design. Of doing something that had character. 

Her pencil traces shapes over the page, designing rooms and doors and windows and landscapes. She doesn’t stop until her hand starts to ache. Sighing, she rotates her wrist in a circle against the pain, looking over at what she’s drawn. 

Santana’s met a lot of people in her life; it’s part of the job. Most of the people she meets are all the same. It’s an uninteresting stream of businessmen and investors, three piece suits and aged scotch. In her jeans and wool sweater, Brittany proved different almost instantly. It was one of the reasons Santana didn’t turn down the job. That, and, well, she’s just really sick of building the same buildings all the time. It was the first non corporate job that had passed her desk in forever. She barely hesitated. 

She starts drawing again without thinking, a new sheet of paper in front of her. Minutes pass, ticking away on the large clock to her right, but Santana keeps tracing lines on her paper, humming absently as she works. 

There’s something about Brittany. Something Santana can’t quite figure out, like an itch she can’t scratch. 

Moments later, she looks at what she’s drawn, rubbing her wrist with her right hand as she looks into the profile of her new client, sketched in blacks and greys on Santana’s drafting table. 

She shakes her head at herself, throws her pencil down on the table and goes to bed. Alone. 

\--

The next day, Santana awakes with a groan, her alarm beeping loudly through her apartment. She slaps it and stretches. 

Every morning is the same. It’s a ritual she’s rarely deviated from and there’s something comforting in the mechanical feel of it all. Get up, shower, dress, coffee, newspaper, leave. 

Halfway out the door, bagel held between her teeth, coat half on, bag slung over one shoulder, she stops, spotting her sketch from last night on her drafting table. Brittany’s face looks back at her, seeming sharper and larger in the morning light. Under the sketch are pages and pages of designs from last night, grandiose and idealistic. The kinds of things she knows she’d never be able to actually build. Santana spares it one last glance, before shaking her head at herself and walking out the door. 

She gets to work at exactly 8:38, just like every morning, waves to the security guard, George, takes the elevator up to her floor, walks through the double doors of her architectural firm. 

It’s thirty-four paces to her office. She smiles at Tina, getting a cup of coffee, and then at Mercedes, yelling into her cell phone as she passes by, before arriving. She sits down at her desk, coffee on her left, briefcase on her right, boots up her computer, stretches, rotates her neck and gets to work. 

\--

Around 10:00, her boss, William Schuester, walks into her office, knocking on the open door, and smiling politely at her. 

“Good morning, Sir,” she says, standing a little before he waves her back down. “What can I do for you?’ 

“You took a new project,” he states, looking displeased. “Some, dog clinic out in the ‘burbs.” 

Santana swallows. “Yes, that’s correct.” 

“Santana,” he starts, and Santana takes a deep breath. She’s really sick of working for someone, of having to answer for every little thing she does. Submitting to authority has never been something she’s done easily. “Now, you got this job because your mother was one of the greatest architects in this city, and you kept this job because you turned out to be cut from the same cloth. But if you let a meaningless fluff project affect your work with your bigger clients, there will be consequences.” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“You have a massive load as it is.” 

“Yes, I know, I understand.” 

“Everything you design has my name on it too, the firm’s name. You remember that.” 

“I will.” 

Mr. Scheuster observes her for a second longer, before nodding curtly and turning on his heel. Once he’s gone, Santana lets out a low breath, rolling her eyes. 

\--

She stays late at work, like she often does, because she doesn’t really have anything better to do. Rachel calls her sometime after her eyes have already started to ache and there’s a cramp settling in her wrist. She looks at her watch and realizes she forgot to eat dinner. Listening to Rachel yap on about how unhealthy it is that she’s still working and that she needs to get out and get a life is exhausting all the more, so she hangs up on her best friend with an eye roll. 

Fucking Rachel Berry thinking she _knows_. Yeah, they’ve been close friends for years, but the girl gets on Santana’s nerves like few others. Especially when she pulls the mother hen bullshit and tries to act like she’d do a better job of running Santana’s life than Santana is.

Santana throws her pencil on the desk, shuts her computer down and the lights, before storming out of her office, shrugging her jacket on against the cold. She heads to the nearest bar, downs two shots of tequila before fucking the first person that looks interested in the bathroom hallway next to a bank of payphones. 

It’s a deranged kind of _fuck you_ to Rachel. Giving her what she wants without actually giving her what she wants. Or at least that’s the way Santana sees it. 

She feels good, for that moment when her eyes roll back and her thighs tremble, a long exhale shooting out of her. 

She gives the stranger a tight smile, a _thanks for the orgasm_ , before straightening her clothing and walking straight out of the bar, heading for her apartment. 

\----------

The next time Brittany sees Santana, it’s a Tuesday afternoon, a week later, in the intimidatingly tall building that houses Santana’s architectural firm, JLS Designs. Santana has an impressive corner office, a wide, gorgeous looking desk with a drafting table set to the side, stark white paper spread across it. It’s pretty, but impersonal and Brittany feels like she could be standing in anyone's office. The only indicator that it’s Santana’s is that she happens to be sitting at the chair behind the desk, standing to greet Brittany with a wide smile. 

“Good to see you again.” 

Brittany smiles. “You said you had some designs to show me.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Santana gestures to a seat across from her and Brittany takes it. “I was very pleased when Mr. Hummel called to tell me you were willing to work with us.” 

It sounds standard, rehearsed. Brittany’s head tilts. Honesty pours out of her, unbidden. “I didn’t want to at first. Kurt convinced me. And Ein.” 

Santana’s brow pulls together. “Ein?” 

“Ein,” Brittany nods, pauses and adds, “Einstein,” hoping his full name will give some clarification.

Santana’s silent for a moment, eyes darting back and forth before she seems to come to a realization though her expression remains confused. “The _dog_?” 

“Yeah.” 

Santana looks away, briefly, lips pursed. “Right.” 

Taking a deep breath, Santana pulls out a portfolio and Brittany leans forward to listen to Santana explain the different ideas, but she has a really hard time paying attention. Santana is very distracting, more distracting than Brittany remembers her. Maybe it’s seeing Santana here in her office, surrounded by the evidence of her obvious successes. 

Santana’s eyes are dark and sharp as they dart over the pages, the muscles in her forearms shifting as she gestures around the design, explaining in a low, assured voice. Brittany gets lost watching the fabric of Santana’s shirt stretch and pull over her shoulders, watching the way Santana’s lips move to form words that aren’t really registering in Brittany’s brain.

It isn’t until Santana stops, staring curiously at Brittany, that she realizes how obviously she hasn’t been paying any attention. “Brittany?” 

She shakes her head a little. “Yeah, sorry.” 

“You okay?” 

Brittany hums behind a smile. “Daydream,” she explains. 

\--

It’s nearly two hours later and the meeting is not going well at all. Brittany’s pretty convinced it’s because Santana won’t just listen to her. 

“It would be an impressive structure,” Santana argues, rubbing at her eyes with her left hand, still clutching a pencil. “Unique and interesting.” 

“I don’t want it to be impressive,” Brittany says, sighing. “It’s not about impressing people. It’s about rescuing dogs.” 

“You can do both,” Santana argues. 

“I don’t want to.” 

Santana sits back in her chair, throwing her pencil down. “I don’t get that.” 

“I know,” Brittany says lowly. She points at the paper on Santana’s desk, the lot for her new center sketched out on the paper. “You can’t make it that big. It needs a wider lawn.” 

“There’s a significant amount of free land there,” Santana replies, gesturing with her hand, vaguely. 

“It doesn’t look like enough.” 

“It is,” Santana insists.” 

“Doesn’t look like it,” Brittany repeats. 

“If we make the place any smaller...” 

“When,” Brittany interrupts. 

Santana shakes her head. “You know who I am, right?” 

“Santana Lopez,” Brittany answers, affecting a pleased pose. 

“Right,” Santana nods, “You don’t hire Santana Lopez to build you a log cabin, you hire Santana Lopez to build you the urban Taj Mahal.” 

“Why is Santana Lopez talking in the third person?” 

“Brittany,” Santana says, bowing her head a little to look at Brittany seriously, “You don’t want to make this place any smaller than I already have it here.” 

“Except that I do.” 

Sighing, Santana leans forward. “Brittany,” she repeats. 

“If you can’t do it, I can find someone else,” Brittany says earnestly. 

Santana rolls her eyes. “I can build a stupid dog house,” she grumbles. 

Brittany frowns. “You think it’s stupid?” 

Before Santana can correct her slip up, someone knocks on the door. Brittany turns to see a tall man in a heavy tan jacket step in, grinning wide. 

“Finn,” Santana states, standing. “This is Brittany Pierce, the client.” 

Still smiling, Finn steps forward and shakes Brittany’s hand, sitting down in the chair next to her. “Hi, I’m Finn Hudson. I’m the contractor.” 

Brittany tilts her head at the word. “Contractor?” 

“Yeah, you know, Santana draws the pretty pictures and I do all the hard stuff,” Finn explains, gesturing to Santana. 

A deep, affectionate laugh bubbles out of Santana, surprising Brittany. “Yeah, yeah,” she says around chuckles. “Finn here is basically the builder, he’ll be on site during the project.” 

“Hi,” Brittany says, smiling. She likes Finn immediately. He’s all wide smiles and enthusiasm. In fact, he kind of reminds Brittany of a golden retriever or an overactive Great Dane. 

“Hey,” Finn greets. “I just want you to know, I’m really excited about this project. I’ve loved dogs since I was a kid.” 

Yeah, she definitely likes Finn. “Good to meet you.” 

Finn nods. Looking at the designs spread over Santana’s desk, he gestures, curious. “These the plans?” 

“Yeah,” Santana say, giving Brittany a pointed look. “We’re arguing over size right now.” 

Finn laughs. “Well, what seems to be the problem?” 

“The lawn needs to be bigger,” Brittany answers. “For the dogs.” 

Seeming to understand, Finn nods. “For what you want to do, you don’t want the actual building any smaller than this,” Finn says, pointing around the drawing. “The dogs will have plenty of room, trust me.” 

Brittany looks at Finn, considering his words, before deciding. “Okay.” 

She barely hears the _that’s what I’ve been saying this whole time_ that Santana grumbles as they move on in the meeting. 

\--

After the meeting, Brittany heads further downtown to meet up with her friends. Mike Chang, one of Brittany and Quinn’s closest friends from college, works as a chef at a pizza restaurant downtown that happens to serve some of Brittany’s favorite pizza. It works out well, because Mike gets them free pizza all the time and their beer is cheap. It’s become a favorite watering hole for their friends. 

When she walks into the restaurant, Sam and Quinn are already at a table, Mike too, still in his white uniform, bottles of beer and a steaming pizza in front of them. 

“Hey guys!” Brittany greets. 

“Heeeeyyyyy,” Sam slurs, grinning all too widely.

Brittany takes a seat next to him, eying the pizza on the table, her stomach growling in hunger. She grabs a piece for herself, smiling at Quinn and Mike across the table. “Where’s Kurt?” 

“Work,” Sam answers, bumping into her a little bit. “He might show up later, who knows.” 

“How was your meeting?” Quinn asks. 

“Meeting?” Mike joins. 

Brittany nods, looks to Mike to clarify. “With the architect and the builder.”

“That’s cool,” Mike says. “When do you guys actually start building?” 

“Next Monday,” Brittany answers. 

“They’re going to build through the winter?” Sam waves at the waitress and points at his beer, then at Brittany.

She shrugs. “I guess Finn thinks they can get the foundation and the main structure up before the worst snow or something.” 

“Finn?” Quinn asks. 

“Finn Hudson,” Brittany explains. “The builder.” 

“Kurt said that Santana and Tina were nice,” Sam adds. “That’s pretty exciting getting Santana Lopez. She’s been written up all over the paper this year.” 

“Santana Lopez?” Mike leans over the table, face curious. “Did you actually meet her? What was she like?” 

Quinn turns to look at him, confused. He catches the look and shrugs at her. “What? She’s all the rage these days. Like Sam said, the paper did a spread on her just last week.” 

Quinn laughs. “You are such a nerd.” 

“She’s hot,” Brittany says, nonchalantly, smiling at the waitress as she hands her a beer.

Sam turns to look at her. “Who?” 

“Santana,” Brittany clarifies. “She’s not really that friendly or anything, but she’s hot. And I think she likes dogs, but she like...hides it or something.” 

“Brittany,” Quinn says, voice suddenly stern, “You can’t sleep with your architect.” 

Brittany jerks her head back, innocent confusion on her face. “Who said anything about that?” 

Quinn gives her a pointed look. “Brittany.” 

“I’m just saying that she’s hot. Mike asked what she was like, and that’s the nicest thing I could think to say about her. I’m not going to sleep with her. I just met her.”

The look on Quinn’s face clearly reads _like that means anything_ , but Mike interrupts them. “That’s exciting though. That you’re finally going through with this project. You’ve been talking about it for years.” 

“Yeah, Britt,” Sam joins, “we’re all really proud of you.” 

Heat flares up in her face a little at the attention, and Brittany looks down at her beer bottle, picking at the label. “Thanks, guys.” 

“To Brittany,” Quinn announces, holding up her bottle in a toast. 

“To Brittany,” Mike and Sam echo, doing the same. 

Brittany tries, unsuccessfully, to fight the blush in her cheeks as clinks her bottle against the rest of them and laughs. 

\----------

Santana likes breaking ground on a new project. That first day when all that exists is the potential in open space. Nothing has gone wrong yet, there are no regrets. All that exists is an idea. In its own way, it’s perfect. 

She gets there early, the rare time she breaks from her routine, and watches day break over the lot, her breath blowing wisps of white air in front of her. 

Finn shows up not long after, two large cups of extra hot coffee in his hands. He hands one to her in silence. They don’t speak; they don’t need to. This is as much a ritual for the two of them as Santana’s morning routine is. Santana's only as good as her builder. Finn's only as good as his architect. They're partners in a way she is with few people in this world. 

The sun rises, spilling gold across the empty lot. Finn nods, downing the rest of his coffee. 

“You ready?” 

Santana nods a little, tips her coffee against her lips again and lets her eyes roam the land, building a structure with her imagination. She can just make out the foundation, the walls, the roof, the landscaping. A flash of blonde hair swipes across her peripheral vision. She turns to see Brittany, strolling towards them, bundled up in her coat and scarf against the October chill. 

“Morning,” Brittany greets, smiling at them. 

“Hey,” Finn replies. 

“Do you always come to work this early?” Santana asks, surprised.

Brittany shakes her head. “Couldn’t sleep. S’too exciting.” 

Finn laughs. “Well, I’m going to go make sure everything is ready for today.” 

“Bye.” Brittany waves a little as Finn walks off. 

The chill wind blows through Brittany's hair, waving blonde strands around her face and Santana sees the faint flush in Brittany’s cheeks from the cold. She hadn’t taken the time in their other meetings to notice how attractive Brittany is. Maybe it’s the excitement of a new project, or the promise of a new day, but Santana can’t help but notice it right now. It’ makes her smile, wide and free, before she can stop herself. 

Brittany must notice, because she looks at Santana curiously, an amused wrinkle in the skin around her eyes. “What?” 

Santana shakes it off. It’s really not the time for that sort of thing anyway. “Nothing,” she replies. “Just a new day.” 

Brittany laughs, reaches out to squeeze Santana’s arm, briefly, but the warmth of her palm bleeds through her heavy coat and lingers long after Brittany's hand is gone. “Those are the best.” 

“Yeah,” Santana breathes. “They are.” 

“Lopez!” A voice calls from behind them. Santana turns to see one of Finn’s crew walking towards her, Carhart and hard hat in place. 

“Marco,” Santana greets with a smile. “What’s up?” 

Marco, a stout, well-built guy, walks up to them, smiling. “Just wanted to say good morning.” He looks at Brittany. “Who’s the hot chick?” 

Santana’s eyes go wide. Brittany laughs a little next to her. “The _hot chick_ ,” Santana repeats, glaring a little to get Marco’s attention. “Is Brittany Pierce. Our client. Try and find some class, buddy.” 

“Oh right, hi,” he says, taking his hat off and shaking her hand. 

“Hi,” Brittany replies, chuckling. 

Marco waggles his eyebrows a little at Santana and she rolls her eyes. “Can I help you, Marco?” 

“Some of the boys are going out for some drinks and a game of pool later. Usual day one tradition. You in?” 

Santana laughs. “Can’t,” she answers automatically. “Work.” 

“Ah, come on, Lopez. Just one drink.” 

“How many times have you asked me that, Marco?” 

Marco looks up to his right, mulling over the question. “A couple hundred times.” 

She can feel Brittany observing the exchange, amused. “Exactly,” Santana says. “And how many times have I said yes?” 

“One of these days, boss,” Marco says, wagging a knowing finger in her direction. “One of these days you’re going to realize that you’re letting your life pass you by in that office of yours.” 

Marco’s already turning to leave, laughing at her, when she steps forward a little bit to shove him. “Goodbye, Marco.” 

“Bye!” Marco calls, lumbering away. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Pierce.” 

“Just Brittany is fine,” Brittany corrects, smiling. 

"Alright then. Nice to meet you, Just Brittany," he jokes. 

Santana rolls her eyes at his lame joke, but Brittany laughs. "You're funny." 

“Don’t encourage him,” Santana mumbles.

Marco looks at her, lips pursed in thought as he walks backwards. He points a finger at Brittany, but looks at Santana. “I like her, jefe.” 

“Leave,” Santana orders, lips tight against a laugh. “Before you scare her away with your lameness.” 

Brittany looks at her, once Marco is gone. “He likes you.” 

“He’s a good guy,” Santana says, a small smile playing on her lips, her shoulder shrugging a little. “They all are, all of Finn’s crew. Total losers, but good guys. They get the job done.” 

Brittany stares at her a little longer, as if she’s seeing something completely fascinating, before she breaks the spell with a small chuckle, looking away. “I should get to work.” 

“Yeah,” Santana agrees. “Me too.” 

Nodding, Brittany sends her one last smile, before skipping away a little bit. “See you around.” 

“Have a good one,” Santana replies, turning away. 

“Hey, Santana,” Brittany calls, a few feet away. 

“Yeah?” 

Brittany looks at her, serious. “Thanks.” 

“For what?” 

“For doing the job,” Brittany replies, like it’s obvious. She turns and leaves, before Santana can say anything else. 

\--

A week into the project, Santana visits the site again, just to stay on top of things. The beginning of a build is crucial and even the slightest mistakes can be impossible to correct if caught too late. She shows up early, hand automatically reaching out for the coffee she knows Finn has ready for her. Sipping her drink, she shoots her eyebrows up and down in greeting. 

“Morning,” he mumbles around the donut in his mouth. 

“Morning,” Santana throws back, absently. She eyes the box of pastries on the table. “Who brought these?” 

“Brittany,” Finn answers

“Brittany?” 

“Yeah,” Finn says. “She brings us breakfast and coffee sometimes, before she opens her clinic. Don't tell Tina. She'd kill me if she knew how many donuts I've been eating.” 

“Wow,” Santana says, grabbing a jelly filled donut and observing it. "That's...nice of her." 

“She’s awesome,” Finn breathes. “Did you know she was awesome?” 

“No,” Santana laughs. “I wasn’t aware.” 

“Dude,” Finn says, in a low whisper. He looks around the empty trailer as if he’s afraid of being overheard. “I told her that bear claws were my favorite donut and she brought me a dozen of them the next day. A _dozen_.” 

“Cool,” Santana draws out with mock sincerity. 

“We need to build every single building she ever needs for the rest of forever,” Finn says seriously, nodding solemnly. 

Santana shoots him a look. “Because she brought you donuts?” 

“Yes.” 

Rolling her eyes, Santana laughs. “Yeah. _Okay_.” 

“Santana,” Finn intones, setting a large hand on her shoulder and bending over to look her in the eye. “Donuts are very serious business.” 

"Explain that to my investors when I'm caught spending the firm's time on residential development and dog houses." 

"Okay, fine, whatever, just marry her or something so she sticks around. I’d marry her, but like...Tina’s way more awesomer, so I’m going to need you to take the bullet for us on this one." 

"You're hilarious," Santana deadpans. 

Finn laughs, patting her on the back as he moves to leave. “I don’t know, Santana. Could work. She’s hot and she has donuts.”

“Go away before I call Tina and tell her you said that.” 

\----------

Every morning before the clinic opens, Brittany walks over to the small trailer parked on the lot. She talks to Finn, checks up on how things are going, makes friends with the workers on the site. She brings them donuts and coffee sometimes, hot chocolate on the colder days. It’s fun to watch the building develop, to see the designs become something real and tangible. 

Finn takes time to explain certain nuances of his job, showing her the different types of tools and materials. Occasionally, Santana will stop by and Brittany thinks she likes those days the best. 

Santana’s so interesting to be around - this strange dichotomy of aloof and affectionate. Brittany can’t help but try something new every day just to get Santana to laugh or smile or say something. Watching Santana interact with Finn and his crew is fascinating. She’s less composed, comfortable, relaxed. 

She learns a lot about Santana, too, from the stories Finn tells and the way the guys talk about her. 

“This one time,” Finn’s barely able to contain his laughter enough to talk, but he manages, “this girl Alicia broke up with me in like...the bar we all hung out at in front of all my friends. It was this huge scene and-” 

“That’s awful,” Brittany interrupts, frowning. 

Finn is all smiles. “Well yeah, but Santana was there, right? And she’s sees it all go down.” 

“Oh damn, I just remembered this,” a dark haired man to Finn’s left says with a laugh, his head tipping back. 

Finn’s grin deepens. “Right?” 

Brittany’s eyes dart between them. “What happened?” 

“Well Santana channeled her inner bitch, of course.”

“Not like she has to try very hard to do that,” the other guy jokes, and Brittany feels irrationally defensive of a girl she barely knows. 

“Still, next thing I know a a full tray of food is tipping off a waiters hand right into Alicia’s lap, and Santana’s hands jerk up in surprise,” Finn’s fingers making little air quotes on the last word, “and her drink falls on Alicia’s head.” 

“Whoa,” Brittany breathes out. 

“And Alicia’s like screeching in terror, but Santana’s just smirking next to her, and then she’s all you better leave this bar now, honey, afores I find a pin to stick in those balloons you call tits, hear?” Finn’s voice rises in obvious imitation of Santana. 

Brittany blinks at Finn, the story rolling around in her head as she tries to imagine it. “That’s kinda mean,” she decides on, voice earnest and without judgement. 

Finn shrugs, still smiling. “That’s just the way Santana is.” 

“Yeah,” the other guy adds with a laugh. “Santana’s a bitch, but when it’s on your side it’s sort of awesome. Still terrifying, but awesome.” 

“Hmmm,” Brittany hums out in contemplation. She takes a sip of her coffee and observes the small trailer she’s sitting in, her eyes landing on Santana’s empty desk at the back, as Finn starts in on another story. 

“Then, there was that time in Juarez...” 

\--

“I’ve been hearing some interesting stories about you,” Brittany tells Santana one day when they run into each other on site. It’s late and a rare occasion for Brittany to be there, but she left her hat on Finn’s desk earlier. 

Santana rolls her eyes. “All bad I hope.” She looks different than she does in the morning, more relaxed, the lines of her face softened. 

“Yeah,” Brittany says softly with a smile. She reaches out to squeeze Santana’s forearm. “All bad.” 

For a second, Santana’s lips curl up in a crooked smile, almost playful, but it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by casual indifference and with a shrug of her shoulder she says, “It’s all true you know,” almost under her breath like she’s confessing a secret. 

Brittany laughs. 

\--

“Morning, guys,” Brittany greets, stepping into the trailer. She smiles at Marco as he passes her, exiting, and Igor, another crew member she’s come to know. Santana is sitting at the far end of the trailer, head bowed over some blueprints. She looks up when Brittany walks in, dark eyes connecting with Brittany's sharply, warm surprise in her hesitant smile. 

“Hey, Britt,” Finn grins. He eyes the box of donuts in her hands. “You’re the best.” 

Brittany shrugs, setting the box down. "It's the least I can do. You guys are helping make a dream of mine come true, after all." 

Out of the corner of her eye, Brittany sees Santana stand up and walk over. "Thanks," she says softly, staring at Brittany with weird curiosity. 

Brittany smiles back, watches as Santana’s expression softens for a just a moment, something passing between them. 

“Have a good day,” Santana mumbles quickly, breaking eye contact and moving quickly out of the trailer. 

Brittany watches her go until Finn knocks her in shoulder. “Don’t worry about her. She’s got blinders on.” 

“I’m not worried,” Brittany says thinking about the way Santana looks when she smiles. 

\--

“Is Santana dating someone?” Brittany asks Finn one day, out of the blue. 

Finn chokes on his pastry, coughing loudly before turning to look at Brittany. “What?” 

“Is she dating someone?” Brittany asks again, picking at the seam of her jeans absently. “I was just wondering.” 

“Are you interested in Santana?” 

“I was just curious. I mean you have Tina. And Marco has Julia, and I remember Igor talking about-” 

“She’s not,” Finn interrupts, with a small smile. “Santana doesn’t really have time for that kind of stuff.” 

“What kind of stuff?” 

“Dating,” Finn says with a shrug. “She’s sort of...I don’t know...she works a lot.” 

“Oh...” 

“Yeah,” Finn laughs. “It’s kind of sad. I mean she wasn’t always like that, but once she started getting more known or whatever, it like...” He makes a motion with his hand, sliding it up in the air with a wooshing sound. 

“Does she...I mean...what does she do for fun?” 

Finn’s eyes thin. “Shouldn’t you be asking Santana this?” 

“Okay,” Brittany says, expression open and innocent. “I was just wondering.” 

“Ask her,” Finn says, sounding strangely serious even as a happy smile spreads over his lips. “She’d kill me if she knew I was here talking about her behind her back.”  
“You talk about her all the time.” 

Finn shrugs, “Those are just stories.” 

Brittany hums and reaches for a second donut. 

\----------

They run into each other at some bar downtown. Santana’s struck with how surprised she is that it hasn’t happened before. Then again, Chicago is vast, its bars numerous and it’s been clear since the day they met that Santana and Brittany don’t really run in the same circles. On top of that, it’s the first time in weeks Santana’s been out to the bar just to be out at a bar. It’s only been the occasional after-work drinks with the gang and the no-name fucks for the past few months, but she finished a load of work early today and so when Finn called her about grabbing drinks and playing pool, she actually said yes. 

So with her best dress, black and tight in all the right places, and a pair of heels she rarely gets to wear these days, Santana sets out to their local hangout, smiling at Puck as she walks in and making her way to the pool tables in the back. Finn’s already there, handing her a stick, table ready. 

She’s lining up her shot, bent over the green felt and staring at the cue ball intently when she practically _feels_ Brittany enter the bar. It’s dumb, but she can’t deny that _something_ tugs her eyesight away from the game and towards the door, sliding open as Brittany and a tall guy with dark hair walks in. 

Nearly shanking her shot, Santana jumps a little, eyes widening as she watches the pair walk to the bar, the guy leaning in to whisper something in Brittany’s ear and Brittany throwing her head back as she laughs in response. 

Something bothers Santana about the scene, but she can’t place it; it’s just an unpleasant coiling in her gut, like worry. 

Finn steps in front of her and bends over to look at her. “Dude, what are you doing?” 

She doesn’t need to answer, because Finn turns to follow her line of sight and brightens up significantly when he recognizes Brittany across the bar. She straightens up, opens her mouth, but doesn’t succeed in stopping him before he’s off, walking up to Brittany and inviting her and the guy she’s with over to the pool table. Santana seriously needs to find more introverted friends. 

\--

The guy turns out to be Mike Chang, an old friend of Brittany’s and sous chef at some pizza restaurant downtown. Santana actually kind of likes Mike. He’s unassumingly interesting and really good at pool and he laughs when Santana mocks Finn relentlessly. It’s a breather from being around Rachel who spends most of the time berating her on her bad manners or Puck who stays silent aside from the occasional crude joke. 

Brittany, Santana finds out quickly, is terrible at pool. 

It’s weird to see Brittany in this setting, detached from the constructs of what Santana would consider reality. There’s no construction site around them, no piece of paper tying them together, no box of donuts and gaggle of employees surrounding them. They’re just two people playing pool at a bar. Santana feels suddenly unsure of herself. 

“I suck at this game,” Brittany pouts. 

Mike laughs, shaking the ice around in his glass. He’s perched on a bar stool by the table, pool stick leaned up in the crook of his arm as he watches Brittany frown and step away from the game. “You do. It’s true,” Mike jokes. “Don’t worry, Britt. I love you anyway.” 

Finn laughs, sips his beer, gesturing with his head for Santana to take her shot. 

Passing by Brittany, she tries to give a supportive smile, but she’s not sure it comes across the way she wants it to. She sets her drink on the edge of the table and then eyes the balls, creating lines in her head to set up her shot. She sinks the next two balls, but misses the third when she tries to get all fancy, and jump two balls. 

Mike slides off his stool to take his shot and Santana moves away, drink in hand, back towards Brittany who’s still frowning as she observes the game. “How are you so good?” 

Santana shrugs, laughs a little. “Practice, I guess.” 

“Well then I guess I’ll have to play with you more often,” Brittany says, smiling. She bumps her shoulder into Santana’s lightly. 

“Guess so,” Santana says softly, a shy smile on her lips.

Brittany’s eyes rake down her body, and Santana’s beyond used to that kind of attention, but it feels different somehow with Brittany who’s only seen her in rumpled work clothes. 

“You look good,” Brittany murmurs, eyes wrinkled in the corners, smile on her lips. “Different.” 

“You mean without dirt and ink stains all over me?” 

“No you look good like that too.” Brittany’s voice is low and full of suggestion, different than Santana’s ever heard her. There’s no mistaking the way Brittany’s eyes narrow just a little, the corner of her mouth lifting up. 

Throat thicker than it was moments before, Santana clears her throat, licking dry lips. “Thanks.” 

\--

They go through drinks quickly, and Santana watches Brittany shift through the different stages of intoxication. First it’s giggly, then spacey, until she suddenly starts dancing to the low sound of whatever music’s playing on the jukebox. 

“Watch her,” Mike orders Santana as he walks up to take his place in front of a dart board, but he sounds more amused than anything. “One drink too many and she’ll start running the risk of indecent exposure.” 

Santana chokes a little on her drink, turning to Mike with an incredulous look. His cheeks are tinted just slightly pink, his eyes blinking slowly at her. “What are you talking about?” 

“Brittany kind of...” Mike gestures around with his fingers, the darts clutched in his right hand swaying dangerously close to Santana’s face. “Her clothes tend to mysteriously disappear when she’s been drinking.” 

Eyes widening, Santana looks to where Brittany’s shuffling her feet around next to Finn, one hand wrapped around a glass and the other playing with the hem of her shirt, lifting just enough to reveal the skin at her hips. 

“So yeah, if you could like...just watch out for that,” Mike says, patting her on the shoulder. “Usually Quinn does but she had stuff to do tonight and I guess I could but you’re like a girl so I don’t know...that’s better?” 

Attention back on Mike, Santana laughs a little. “Go ahead and take your shots, Mike,” she says, pushing him towards the dart board. 

“Yeah okay,” Mike mumbles and Santana walks away towards Brittany and Finn, bumping Finn on the side. 

“You suck at darts, Hudson.” 

“I do not!” 

Santana gestures to where Mike is squinting drunkenly at the dart board, but still managing to hit all the right numbers in sequence. His laugh is triumphant as his dart sails towards the triple 16 and the numbers cross out on the scoreboard. “Pretty sure Mr. Boozehead over there is crushing you.” 

“Whatever,” Finn says with a roll of his eyes and a prideful puff of his chest. “We’ll see.” 

Finn walks back over near Mike and Santana turns to where Brittany eyes are dancing over the rim of her glass, the pink liquid sloshing around the ice inside it. 

“How you doing there?” Santana asks, playing with the bottle of beer in her hands. She’s had enough to feel tipsy, comfortable even, but nowhere near the other three. She learned a long time ago that getting drunk in public is just not good for her. 

“Fantastic,” Brittany drawls out. 

“You want to sit down?” Santana asks, eying the way Brittany’s feet shuffle back and forth. It’s not an unsteady motion but not a solid one either and she’s not sure if Brittany’s going to fall over or start dancing. 

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” Brittany says, a secret smile on her face as she sways a little towards her. 

Santana laughs, puts a hand on Brittany’s hip to keep her steady. 

“Come on,” Brittany whines, poking Santana lightly in the ribs and bringing her drink up to her lips. 

“Long Johns,” Santana says, pulling her hand away from Brittany’s body, and taking a deep breath against the sudden rush of arousal in her system. 

“Underwear?” Brittany’s nose scrunches up a little as her eyes run up and down Santana’s body. 

“No,” Santana chuckles. “The donut.” 

“What about them?” 

Santana shrugs, glancing at Puck as he finally slides a drink towards her with a knowing smile. She rolls her eyes at him before turning back to Brittany and says, “They’re my favorite.” 

\--

Mike convinces Brittany to call a cab somewhere around last call and Santana stands on the curb with Finn saying goodbyes. 

Brittany hugs Finn first, jumping up a little to wrap her arms around Finn’s neck. “Donuts tomorrow!” 

“Donuts!” Finn replies enthusiastically, high-fiving Brittany when she releases him. 

Mike smiles at Santana and nods. “Nice to meet you.” 

“You too, Mike,” Santana says, pulling up her purse strap and shuffling her hands into her pockets. Before she can say anything else, long arms are wrapping around her neck and a warm body presses against hers. 

“We totally have to hang out more.” 

Brittany’s breath is warm on Santana’s cheek, but Santana finds herself shivering as she pulls her hands out to hug Brittany back. “Totally.” 

“Thanks for tonight.” Brittany pulls back just far enough to see Santana’s face, their breath mingling in the cold air and Santana can’t fight the way her gaze instantly goes to Brittany’s lips. 

“My pleasure,” Santana says lowly. 

Brittany just hums before breaking away to link arms with Mike where he’s opening the door to their cab. 

\----------

“So that’s Santana,” Mike says when they’re halfway home. 

Brittany watches the buildings fly by out the window of the cab, her forehead pressing into the cold glass. She thinks of the way Santana’s legs looked in her dress, the confident way she stepped up to the pool table and the way her laugh sounded when Brittany said something particularly funny. “That’s Santana,” she sighs. 

Mike starts laughing and Brittany can’t help but join. 

\----------

“So how’s the new project?” Rachel pulls a corkscrew out of a drawer and works on the bottle of red wine on the counter. 

“Good,” Santana answers, pulling out wine glasses. “It’s uh, it’s good.” 

Rachel looks at her skeptically, pouring wine into the glasses Santana set down. “Good, huh?” 

“Yeah, it’s...actually it’s kind of fun,” Santana muses. 

“Fun?” Rachel hands Santana a glass, taking one for herself and walking over to the living room couch, Santana following. 

Chuckling a little at herself, Santana sits down next to Rachel. “I don’t know. Brittany, you know the woman who’s running it? She’s...” Santana trails off, trying to find the right word. 

Rachel’s brow furrows in curiosity. “She’s what?” 

Santana shrugs, looks away, laughs again. “I don’t know. She’s just different. We ran into her the other day at the bar. She’s cool. It’s nice to work for someone that’s not just your average suit. I feel like I’m finally doing something interesting.” 

A beat passes, another, and then Rachel leans forward towards Santana, her wine sloshing precariously in her glass. “So...you like her.” 

Santana’s eyes are fixated on Rachel’s wine, worried about her perfect, unstained carpet. She answers, automatically, “Sure. She’s competent…and nice.”

“No, I mean _like_ her.” 

This time Santana’s eyes meet Rachel’s. “What is this? High school? _No_.” 

“You do.” 

“I do _not_ …” Santana takes a sip of her drink before adding. “Not any more than like her because she’s good at her job...and nice.” 

“And hot,” Rachel adds. 

“She’s objectively attractive,” Santana concedes. “If you’re into that.” 

“If you’re into hot smart blondes?” 

“Rachel. I am not into her can we drop this?” 

“Yes, you are,” Rachel insists. “I can tell. Well, I mean. I can’t tell, because I can’t remember a time when you actually took an interest in anything other than this month’s issue of Architectural Digest, but I know what that looks like and this thing you’re doing right now is not that. Which only leads me to the next most obvious conclusion, being that _you like her_.” 

Santana rolls her eyes. “If you’re going to start your psychobabble bullshit you can leave.” 

“Santana, this is fantastic!” 

Groaning, Santana stands and walks towards her kitchen. “Leave.” 

“I’m serious. When was the last time you were on a date?” 

“I date. Stay out of my sex life.” 

“You do not _date_.” Rachel’s lips purse as she eyes Santana from the couch. “There’s not even a polite word for what you do.” 

“Fucking,” Santana says with a teasing smile. “It’s called fucking.” 

Lifting her chin up in mock offense, Rachel turns away. “You need to grow up and ask her out on an actual date. Like adults do.” 

“I don’t have time for that sort of thing.” 

“That’s the ‘sort of thing’ you’re supposed to make time for.” 

“That’s ridiculous.” Santana grabs the wine bottle on the counter and uncorks it, pouring more wine into her glass. 

“It is _not_. You need to get out more. Meet people. Date.”

Santana sighs, walks back over to the couch with the wine and sets both her glass and the bottle on the coffee table before sitting back down. “What’s the point of dating? Serious question.” 

Rachel’s eyes blink rapidly, her whole posture tightening. “Fun, relaxation, companionship. It’s one of the oldest forms of courtship.” 

“Marriage,” Santana interjects. “The point of dating is marriage.” 

“Well, yes, often that is the end result, sure.” 

Santana points at herself and bows her head a little to look Rachel in the eye. “Do I look like someone that’s ready to be married?” 

Shoulders pulling back a little, Rachel straightens up and lifts her chin defiantly. “Yes.” 

“No,” Santana counters with a laugh. “I’m in a serious relationship with my job. If it weren’t for your constant bitchy nagging, I’d barely remember to eat, much less do anything else.” 

“That’s what a spouse is for,” Rachel argues. “I can’t sit here nagging you for the rest of your life.” 

“Yeah, because I’ll probably end up killing you.” 

“Santana, be reasonable.” 

“So you’re saying I should date someone so that I can marry them and then they can take over your role of nagging me about shit all the time?” 

“Will you stop twisting my words around, please?” 

Santana shakes her head and laughs. “No.” 

“Ask her out.” 

“Ask your face out,” Santana retorts, punctuated with a defiant sip of her wine.

Rachel laughs and throws her hands up in the air, defeated. “It’s like talking to Noah sometimes, I swear.” 

Santana grabs her chest in mock outrage. “Ouch.” 

“I’m serious,” Rachel continues, undeterred. “Ask her to my party this weekend.” 

“ _I’m_ serious. No.” 

Pursing her lips, Rachel just stares at her for a second. “Fine.” 

Santana’s eyebrows shoot upward. “Fine?” 

“Yes, fine. I’m not going to push you into doing something you don’t want to do.” 

“Are you on crack? You _always_ push me into things I don’t want to do.” 

Rachel gasps. “I resent that accusation. _Both_ of those accusations.” 

“Whatever, it’s true.” 

“It baffles me how we’re friends sometimes.” 

Santana laughs. “I know,” she agrees, smiling warmly. 

\--

Santana’s not really needed at the job site the next day, but she goes anyway. She tells herself it’s because she has an overwhelming need to control every minute detail, but there’s a part of her that knows that’s not all of it. Usually, she only goes on days where they’re building something particularly complicated or important, but she just feels like showing up for no discernible reason at all. 

Finn looks up, surprised, when she walks into his trailer in the morning. 

“I didn’t do it,” he says, right away. 

Confused, and now suspicious, Santana jerks her head back a little at him. “Didn’t do what?” 

“Whatever it is you’re here to yell at me about.” 

“I’m not here to yell at you, Hudson, jeez. Calm down. Though now I’m a little concerned about what you think I’m here for.” 

Finn visibly deflates, exhaling loudly. “What are you here for then? We’re just cutting brick today.” 

Santana shrugs. “Just thought I’d stop by, check in, you know.” 

“What?” 

The door creaks open again, before Santana can clarify her excuse to a clearly confused Finn, and Brittany walks in, blonde hair tumbling down, cheeks flushed from the chill air and a small black dog on a leash, in her arms.

“Oh!” Brittany exclaims, when she sees Santana. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I was just bringing Apollo here to see Finn. I can come back.” 

“No, no,” Santana says, waving her hands as Brittany turns to leave. “I was just stopping by. You don’t have to leave.” 

Brittany looks skeptical for a second, hesitant, but it passes and she smiles, setting Apollo on the ground. Finn pushes past Santana and kneels, urging the dog to come over. “He’s awesome,” Finn breathes, when Apollo gets near. He runs a hand over the dogs head, scratching him behind the ears, before turning to look up at Santana. 

“Do you think Tina will like him?” 

“You’re getting a dog for Tina?” 

Finn nods. “Yeah, you know, after Bluto died last year...” 

Santana remembers her friends’ old dog with fond nostalgia; Tina was broken up for days after they had to put him down. She doesn’t really understand why someone would want to risk that kind of pain again, but Tina’s been talking about wanting a new dog for months now. She watches Finn play with the dog in front of him and then looks to where Brittany is watching it too, smiling softly. 

“For sure,” she answers, looking back to Finn. “Tina will love him.” 

“Awesome,” Finn breathes. 

Brittany claps a little, the sound startling Santana. “There’s some paperwork to fill out at my office, but other than that, he’s all yours.” 

“Thanks, Brittany,” Finn says, grinning. 

“Of course!” 

They all stand there in silence for a moment, Finn distracted by his new dog, Santana staring everywhere but at Brittany and Brittany rocking back and forth a little on her feet. Finally, Brittany takes a deep breath and nods. “Right, well, I should probably go.” 

“It was good to see you,” Santana blurts out, nearly wincing as she says it. 

Brittany stops, near the door and turns to look at Santana, a contemplative expression on her face for a second. “Do you want to grab some coffee? I mean, if you don’t have anything to do.” 

“Santana was just stopping by anyway,” Finn answers for her. "She's free." 

She contemplates kicking Finn, but she doesn’t see a subtle way to do so with Brittany watching her, so she just smiles tightly and nods. “I've got some meetings later, but I have some time. Coffee sounds good.” 

The grin that spreads over Brittany’s face is so wide that Santana’s pretty sure she’d agree to anything if that’s the reaction she gets. 

\--

There’s a coffee shop not far from the clinic. The walk is a little brisk in the chill November air, but it's companionable. Still, Santana's glad to reach warmth. 

They order their coffee and sit at a table near the window, Brittany unwrapping the scarf from around her neck and shrugging her jacket off. Santana settles her hands around her coffee cup, grateful for the warmth. 

Santana can’t remember the last time she just had coffee with another person, without agenda or purpose. It’s nice. Lazy in a way that feels unfamiliar, but comfortable. Brittany holds her drink up in front of her, the steam tracing white lines above the rim, and smiles over it at Santana. 

Unsure of what to say, Santana spins her coffee around on the table for a second before settling on, “So...”

Brittany takes a sip and then puts her cup down. “Nice weather.” 

“It’s November,” Santana deadpans. 

“I like winter weather.” 

“Technically, it’s still fall.” 

“Well it _feels_ like winter,” Brittany says, shrugging. 

Santana laughs. “The joy of living in the midwest.” 

“Have you lived here all your life?” 

Taking a sip of her coffee, Santana nods. “Born and raised.” 

“Parents?” 

“Alive and kicking,” Santana answers. 

“What do they do?” 

Santana arches an eyebrow. “Are we making small talk?” 

“Isn’t that what you do over coffee?” 

To be honest, Santana has no idea what the proper etiquette for this sort of thing is. She grabs coffee and drinks with her friends often enough, but she already knows all their stories, their life history. This whole new person, getting to know each other business is foreign - something she hasn’t done in ages. “Yeah, I guess it is.” 

“So,” Brittany says, sipping at her drink. “What do your parents do? Are they architects too?” 

Santana nods a little. “My mom, yeah. My dad’s a doctor.” 

Grinning, Brittany let’s out an awed, “Wow. Brains run in your family.” 

Santana shrugs. “I don’t know about that, but success, sure. It’s the family business.” 

“Did you become an architect because of your mom?” 

Santana shifts around a little, looks away. “I guess.” She looks back at Brittany. “It was either that or become a doctor, but blood makes me a little uncomfortable and I always liked to draw.” 

“My parents are lawyers,” Brittany adds. “My older sister too. I know all about,” Brittany’s chest puffs out and her voice lowers as she mock importantly intones, “The family business.” 

Santana laughs, nodding. “But the law wasn’t for you?” 

Shrugging, Brittany glances away briefly her smile faltering just a bit. “Wasn’t smart enough.” 

Santana’s eyebrows come together. “You’re a veterinarian.” 

Brittany laughs. “I know.” 

“Well, so, you have to be smart to do that.” 

“Not like a lawyer,” Brittany disagrees, “with all that memorization and arguing and stuff.” 

“Isn’t veterinarian school full of memorization and things?” 

“Sure, but that stuff is easy. It’s just animals.” 

“Brittany,” Santana laughs, trying to figure out why this girl has such a low opinion of herself. “Not everyone can do what you can do.” 

“That’s not true,” Brittany says with a shake of her head. 

“Yes it is,” Santana insists. 

Brittany shrugs again and Santana can tell she’s getting uncomfortable with the praise, so she changes the subject with a small smile. “So I’m guessing you have a dog.” 

Brittany’s whole face lights up, her demeanor changing in an instant. “Two,” Brittany answers. "And a cat." 

Santana settles back and enjoys the spectrum of emotion that flashes across Brittany's face as she talks about her old dog, Cooper and her cat, Milo and the new puppy she somehow decided to name Cat. 

\--

An hour later, Santana takes a glance at her watch and realizes with a start that she’s going to be late for her midmorning meeting. “Shit, I have to go. Sorry.” 

Brittany shakes her head. “That’s okay. You must be really busy anyway. Thanks for having coffee with me.” 

Standing, shrugging her coat back on, Santana smiles at Brittany as she does the same. “It was nice,” she says, feeling the truth of her words. Her mind feels relaxed, warm, for the first time in a long time. Unconcerned with the fact that she blew off a load of paperwork she had set aside for this morning. 

They both discard their empty coffee cups and walk out the door onto the sidewalk, turning to observe each other. “I’m this way,” Santana says, cocking a thumb over her shoulder, the opposite direction of where they came. “It’s faster back to my office if I jump the train.” 

“Oh,” Brittany says, “Okay. Have a good day then.” 

“You too,” Santana says, suddenly wanting nothing more than to keep standing on this sidewalk with Brittany. She realizes, with sudden and startling clarity, that she has no desire to go back to work. It's a new, strange feeling and one she can't decide if she's entirely comfortable with. 

Brittany smiles. “We should do this again sometime.” 

“Hey, Rachel's throwing a party this weekend,” Santana blurts out, her eyes growing wide as she hears herself. 

“Who?” Brittany stuffs her hands into the pockets of her coat and jumps a little against the cold. 

“My friends,” Santana clarifies with a short cough. “My friend, Rachel Berry, is throwing a party this weekend. She does this thing where she thinks she’s the queen of everybody’s social calendars and throws a party at minimum once a month. Finn will be there, and Tina. You should come.” 

Head tilted, Brittany seems to mull over the idea and Santana finds herself still talking. “I mean, if you want to. You don’t have to. You can bring someone! Or two someones, or whomever, whatever.” 

Brittany laughs, interrupting Santana’s babbling, and she takes the opportunity to clamp her mouth shut, hoping it stays that way. “That sounds fun,” Brittany replies. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cool, it’s 8 o’clock, Friday. I’ll e-mail you the address.” 

With a shake of her head, Brittany steps forward and boldy reaches into Santana’s jacket pocket to pull out her phone. “I’m terrible with e-mail,” she says in a soft voice, standing close to Santana as she hunches over her phone. “That’s my cell.” 

Santana watches intently as Brittany finishes punching the numbers and has to swallow against the sudden dryness in her mouth when Brittany suddenly looks up and drops the phone heavily back into Santana’s pocket. “Text me the address.” 

“I will,” Santana manages to get out, clearing her throat a little. 

“Friday 8 o’clock,” Brittany says with resolution.. 

“Friday 8 o’clock,” Santana confirms. 

Brittany smiles, walking backwards, and in a bright tone declares, “It’s a date.” 

She’s turned the corner out of sight before Santana can even think to respond.


End file.
